


Falling

by Morvith



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Conflict, Religious Fanaticism, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvith/pseuds/Morvith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On 13th April 1204, Constantinople falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_April 13_ _th_ _, A.D. 1204_

 

It’s a feeling before it becomes a fact or even a whisper, a sudden thrill running through the whole army, passing over each man like the auspicious northern wind that brought the Venetian ships.

It’s the bright, sweet realization that victory is within their grasp.

The great city of Constantinople teeters on the edge and they are about to land the final blow.

 

Everyone knows it, everyone can feel it, from generals to knights to lowly soldiers.

 

Even the tall knight currently crouching under his shield can feel the subtle current underneath all the dust and the clamour.

 

His stomach clenches.

He knows what’s coming next.

 


	2. Chapter I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The grammatical errors in this chapter (well, the one in the dialogue anyway - here's hoping they are the only ones) are intentional

_April 16_ _th_ _, A.D. 1204_

 

The street is eerily silent. Empty, too, and this is – was – not a city where one would expect to find empty, silent streets.

It’s a strange change, after three days of shouting and crying and _screaming_ , screaming everywhere.

But this street is silent, untouched even from the echoes of slaughter.

 

A lone knight moves numbly among the lengthening shadows: in this fading light he could almost be mistaken for a ghost, but his tall, strong frame and clinking chainmail give him an unshakeable solidity that sets him quite apart from his muted surroundings.

Silence, finally blessed silence and no one in sight, the Lord be praised. Jared Padalecki, for this is the young knight’s name, has had enough, has seen enough – has done enough.

He doesn’t ask for sanctuary or oblivion – he wouldn’t be looking for them in this dead street if he was and forgiveness is a distant concept. He is not feeling particularly forgiving at this time.

He keeps walking, absorbing everything around him without a sound, but inside he wants to shout and rage at the Heavens for allowing this, at himself for taking part in it and most of all at his family for sending him here.

 

 _You should be here, father, you should see this. Would you be proud of me now? I had to be cleansed of my sin, is this what you meant? Bathing in blood?_ He grits his teeth so hard it hurts. _Is my sin so terrible that_ _**this** _ _is better?_

His reflections are abruptly interrupted by a burst of noise – people coming down the street.

Jared is not important enough to be missed, but he still has no desire to deal with anyone: without thinking, he ducks inside a broken-down door and into a house.

 

It proves to be a mistake: he has passed a lot of houses on the streets, seen their doors barely hanging off their hinges, but never looked inside. The obvious signs of his comrade-in-arms’ passage hit him like a mace to the chest.

He could go back outside, but he does not: he just lingers in the hall until his vision adjust and then moves deeper into the house, forcing himself to see everything, take in every little detail.

This is what he did at Zara, at the first assault months ago. This is the price of his soul.

 

He moves carefully, respectfully – as if walking through a graveyard.

 

What a fine house this was. It’s smaller than the Padaleckis’ castle back home yet richer, it’s clear in every smashed piece of furniture, every torn scrap of cloth.

Jared even catches a glimpse of a small back garden – a rarity in cities like this. There is also a sort of tiny chapel, or at least the remains of a chapel. Knights or soldiers, whoever got here first seems to have taken a special pleasure in destroying it: the altar has been overturned, the icons stripped of their gilt and wrecked, somebody has even haphazardly taken a sword to the drapes still hanging at the back of the room.

 

Incongruously, the only thing to survive such devastation is a key hanging from a nail right beside the door.

Without thinking, Jared takes it and turns toward the light filtering through the broken window to study it more closely. It’s too rough and too big to be the tabernacle key, but it might be some sort of Eastern symbol.

 

The ruined drapes sway under a stronger gust of winds, the unexpected rustle attracting the weary knight’s attention. After a few seconds, they fall back to their previous stillness as if they had never moved – yet something has changed.

His right hand instinctively moves to his sword as he crosses the room – there’s something behind one of the drapes, something he glimpsed just for a second.

A single tug and the cloth comes down, revealing its secret: a door, miraculously still intact and locked.

 

To his dying day, Jared will never be able to explain what made him slide the key in the lock and turn it, what made him decide to look. He will never be able to say what he expected to find, only that it wasn’t what he did.

 

The room is smaller, with only two narrow slits high on the wall as source of illumination but despite the dim light, or perhaps because of it, the first things Jared sees are the lighter spots out of the shadows – the boy’s hand wrapped around his legs, his pale face, the gleam of his eyes.

 

A survivor.

 

Jared stands frozen on the spot, his mind racing. It all makes sense now – the master of the house’s son, perhaps the only child, hidden away to keep him safe.

A rather rude oath in his native tongue escapes from the knight’s lips and the boy flinches, pushing his back against the wall as if desperation alone could make him melt through stone. As he moves, the light glints off the silver cross he wears.

 

But a few hours ago, Jared would have simply stepped forward and ripped it from his neck – perhaps killed him, too, without much conscious thought.

But not now. Not anymore.

 

“Don’t…don’t be afraid. I don’t hurt you” Jared says, painfully aware of how stupid his words sound even without taking into account his horrible Greek.

 

The boy just stares at him, the terror on his face replaced with resignation. Abruptly realizing what he must look like, Jared takes his hand away from his sword, takes off his helm and moves closer – a very stupid move in any circumstance, but he doesn’t care.

 

“You stand?” Even as he asks, he is carefully wrapping a hand around a thin shoulder and helping him to his feet, suddenly grateful he could only afford leather gloves.

 

The boy stumbles after him, passively allowing Jared to lead him through the house and push him to sit on a stone bench outside, in the secluded and still intact yard.

 

“Stay,” Jared orders before going back inside, hoping the boy will not follow him. It was bad enough walking him through that once, catching a choked gasp of horror he surely was not meant to hear… but there was no way to prevent him from seeing that, he might be young but he is not a child.

 

While rummaging around the kitchen, it suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t know what he is doing. Perhaps it’s better this way.

His stubborn search finally yields a loaf of not-yet-stale bread and, even more miraculously, a bottle of wine: with his prizes in hand, he hurries back to the garden.

 

Another miracle: the boy is still where he left him, half-slumped against the back of the bench with his face toward the sky.

Jared sits down, mindful to leave ample space between them, and pushes the bread in his hands. “Eat.”

 

He can feel the boy’s wary gaze upon him, but he forces himself to ignore him, reaching instead for the bottle and taking a sip. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the boy take a cautious bite, then another and in no time at all he’s demolishing the loaf like a starving man.

 

“Not this fast, boy,” Jared says, aiming for stern authority and managing neither. “Eat slow.”

 

He does not answer, but he does slow down a little.

 

Jared brings the bottle back to his lips and drinks again, feeling the liquid’s warmth spread through his body, its strong taste tingling his tongue and soothing his parched throat.

 

High over their head, the first stars awaken.

 

Jared leans back to look at them, ignoring the faint pain of the chainmail digging through his shift. The boy finishes meticulously picking breadcrumbs off his clothes and takes a large gulp from the bottle before putting it down on the bench between them.

 

Jared can feel his eyes watching him again. Waiting.

He opens his mouth without knowing what he will say – that he is sorry, perhaps, as useless as it might be – but something else entirely comes out: “What do you do now?”

 

The boy shrugs his shoulder – he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

 

“You stay here? You have other place?”

 

Another shrug. Jared sighs, a hand rubbing his forehead.

 

He should have left long ago, he shouldn’t have lingered here, this whole disaster is none of his concern – but he found life where he was expecting only death and now this life feels like the most precious treasure in all Byzantium, to be protected at all costs.

 

When he left home, even with the urgency to purge his sin firmly set in his mind, he still believed in the righteousness, the sanctity of the Crusade. He still believed he could redeem himself in his family’s eyes, could make them love him again if only he came home a hero.

 

Up to now, there has been no righteousness, no sanctity and no honour. He is not a hero, but a murderer.

Yet, if he could at least save one life – if he could protect this boy, maybe…maybe his coming here would mean something other than death and devastation.

 

He feels as though a fever had taken him – perhaps it’s the undiluted wine, perhaps he is going mad in this mad world.

Nevertheless, a plan is already forming in his mind. “How old is you?”

 

The boy stares at him, too astonished to keep silent or lie. “Seventeen.”

 

 _Almost too old_ , Jared thinks, trying to study his face and appearance in the faint light. _Still, he does look younger than his age…_

 

“I have a deal for you,” he says slowly, mindful of the words he uses. “If you have no place, become my squire. Until you know where to go.” He almost has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying more – from talking of the food he can find at the crusader camp and of the protection a knight, even a poor one like him, can offer.

 

Somehow, he is sure the boy – the younger man knows every reason he could offer: mentioning it would just be an affront to his pride..

 

Said younger man is staring at him again, mistrust and bewilderment clear in every line of his body. “Why…?” he starts to ask, abruptly cutting himself off.

 

“Why I ask?” The boy looks away, which is answer enough to his guess. For a moment, Jared doesn’t say anything, too preoccupied with gathering his thoughts: he doesn’t want to explain himself – he _can’t_ – but he knows he will never convince the boy if he keeps silent.

“I wish to help,” he murmurs slowly, “because this is not why I am here. This is not what I want. I know to become a squire is also not what you want, but… your family protects you, while they can” he says as he carefully places a hand on his shoulder – a mistake, perhaps, he can feel the boy stiffening under his palm, but he can’t help himself, he has always been the type to reach out and comfort with touch. “And now they are not here. But I am and I can and I…” Jared trails off before he inadvertently reveals too much. “It’s easy. You understand?”

 

After long, tense minutes, the younger man nods without a word. It’s all the confirmation Jared needs and he acknowledges his answer with a curt dip of his chin. “Good. What is your name?”

 

“Jensen. Of the Ackles family.”

 

“Jensen…” he repeats, the foreign name uneasy on his tongue. “I am Jared Padalecki.”

 

His name finally forces a less-than-controlled reaction out of Jensen, he can see it even in the scarce light. He doesn’t resent him for it: by now he has grown too accustomed to his name’s effect in all its possible varieties to do more than smile at his new squire.

He is almost sure that Jensen smiles back, too.

 

For a moment, it doesn’t seem to matter that he is the son of a nobleman and Jensen the son of a merchant or something like that, that one is the conqueror and the other the conquered.

 

Their companionable silence, unfortunately, is soon broken by Jensen himself, cautiously raising from his seat. “I’ll see if…” he gestures vaguely to the house.

 

Jared instinctively reaches for him, his hand wrapping around his arm. “I do it. Find all things you need.”

 

Jensen shakes his head. “Some things must be done alone.”

 

Jared understands that, although he still wishes he could spare him – Jensen might be older than he initially expected, but he’s still a boy, still innocent like he was at his age.

Nevertheless, he lets him go. Some things must be done alone.

 

But when Jensen disappears inside the doorway and even the echo of his footsteps fades, Jared can’t help but wonder if his encounter was real.

Shrugging, he finishes the wine and stands, deciding to go and check the street while he waits for Jensen.

 

Without even thinking, he takes the empty bottle with him and puts it back in the kitchen – a discordant note of order in the general chaos.

Fortunately, Jensen does not take long, even more anxious to leave this house than his new master.

 

Jared nods his approval at the modest, sturdy clothes he changed into and steps out into the night.

 

They reach the crusader camp after more than an hour without having spoken a single word.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jared sees his younger companion tense as they approach the sentinels and fractionally relax again once they pass them without receiving as much as a second glance.

 

They are almost at his tent when the knight hears someone call his name and turns in time to see his friend sir Geoffrey de Morgane coming toward them.

 

“Jared! Good to see you are back, my friend – and not empty-handed, it seems,” he adds, eyeing Jensen and the bundle he’s carrying.

 

“Not exactly, no.” Jared replies before turning to his squire. “Go on. You know how to find my tent.”

 

Jensen nods quickly. “A yellow shield with two black dogs,” he murmurs before rushing away.

 

Geoffrey raises one eyebrow. “He doesn’t sound like one of the Venetian boys, that one.”

 

“Because he is not,” Jared shrugs, seemingly unconcerned.

 

“He’s not? Where did you find him, then?” he prods.

 

Jared inwardly curses his friend’s curiosity, but still answers placidly, “He comes from the city: his family was Roman Christian.”

 

Geoffrey frowns. “Were they, now?” He mutters, shaking his head. “And did he place himself under your protection?”

 

This time, the younger knight allows some of his annoyance to shine through. “Yes. I took him as my squire.”

 

Geoffrey’s frown deepens. “You are too kind for your own good, my friend. Take care he doesn’t repay your kindness by murdering you in your sleep.”

 

Jared forces a laugh. “You worry too much, Geoff. Besides, I sleep as lightly as a cat.”

 

“As a dead cat, you mean!”

 

Jared laughs and shakes his head, heading for his lord’s tent and wondering if he should explain himself to lord Kripke, too.

 

 _I was hoping Jensen’s presence wouldn’t attract attention so soon_ , he muses. _Ah, well. Nothing to be done now._

 

***********

 

It’s almost three hours later when Jared finally stumbles into his tenth, the long day fully catching up with him.

Jensen is nowhere to be found, but the oil lamps are still lit and burning brightly. His meagre luggage is also lying against the canvas, which is somewhat reassuring even if Jared can’t help but wonder what he might be up to.

 

Deciding he probably needed some space or to familiarize himself with his new surroundings, Jared starts stripping, too tired and too used to being on his own to consider waiting. He takes off his over-tunic and starts struggling with his chainmail when the tent flaps part and somebody steps in.

 

Jared swears, still trying to push off the heavy shirt, and asks, “ ‘s you, Jensen?”

 

“Yes, sir.” The voice is still soft and unsure.

 

“Good. Listen, I told Geoffrey you come from a Roman Christian family – gah! – so this is your story, understand?”

 

“Yes, sir. I’ll remember.”

 

Jared feels him move closer rather than see him, then Jensen grabs the chainmail and drags it down and over his head.

 

“Wheew. Thank you,” Jared straightens up and turns around, a quip about arriving just in time on his lips – and stops dead in his tracks.

 

Back at the house, Jared hadn’t really seen him, with the darkness and his own thoughts distracting him, but now he can see Jensen in full light.

 

He is just as slender and lithe as he felt under his hand, and tall, too, almost as tall as Jared himself even though he still keeps his head bowed down and his shoulder hunched.

When Jensen looks up, softly answering that it’s his job now, he can barely nod in acknowledgement, his voice trapped in his throat.

 

Jensen is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen – and Jared is in so much trouble now.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter II

_Sunday, May 9_ _th_ _1204_

 

Jared wakes with a start, his hand already reaching for the dagger under his pillow before he stops himself.

All is quiet, both in his tent and outside.

 

_Yet, I thought I heard something…_

 

He barely has time to finish his thought that there it is again, a sort of choked sob. It’s enough to chase all traces of drowsiness from his mind, for he knows what it means: Jensen is having a nightmare.

They must be getting worse: it’s the first time Jensen wakes him from his slumber and the nightmare doesn’t seem to pass, like it usually does.

 

What to do, now? The sensible course of action would be to wake Jensen, but…well, that might be a problem. Jensen hasn’t lost an ounce of pride, not in this tent at least: outside, he’s a completely different person, just another boy among the mass of squires, but this is his home now, the place where he can be himself – or as himself as he dares to, anyway.

Jared remembers the carefully blank look that greeted him when he first tried to talk to him about his dreams, the chilly mask of dignity and pride.

 

It sounds so stupid, a knight afraid of his squire. 

But Jensen has always been more than a squire and his dignity is all he has left. Jared understands that.

There is only way to go about it, really. Luckily, Jared doesn’t mind making a fool out of himself.

 

Closing his eyes, Jared rolls over and kicks out, almost managing to knock over their makeshift table.

The noise is enough to wake Jensen – Jared can tell from the way he stays completely still for a couple of seconds, most likely to make sure he is still asleep.

He keeps his breathing even and deep, until, after a few minutes, Jensen finally falls back asleep – again, he can tell by his breathing.

 

Instead of following his example now that all is truly well, Jared rolls on his side and just lays there, wide awake.

After sharing close quarters with someone, it’s not unusual to know about their sleeping patterns and what they sound like when they sleep – although Jared only learned most of it from trying to deal with the ghosts that sometimes visit him at night.

 

Those memories are also the reason why he knows what Jensen sounds like when he comes.

Jared honestly hadn’t meant to pry, but that time, after he had woken up after a nightmare of his own, he had felt no desire to share the fact with, well, anyone. He would have been perfectly contented to lay and brood until weariness or dawn caught up with him, but Jensen was already tossing and turning with frustration in his bedroll and then…

 

It shouldn’t have been so difficult – of course it had happened before, between sharing room and bed with his brother Joel and the cramped quarters in the ships and in the encampments, but he could easily ignore it. It had never been like this.

Jared lay motionless in the dark, acutely aware of Jensen’s every movement as he pleasured himself only a few feet away, listening to his quick, short breaths, the rustling of the blanket as he moved and then, finally, a soft, muffled moan followed by a long intake of breath – almost a sigh of relief.

Jensen had fallen asleep almost immediately. Jared had not slept at all.

 

All the fleeting thoughts he had ruthlessly squashed as soon as they began to form had come back to torment him tenfold, aided by his own treacherous body.

It would have been easy, so easy to cross the distance between them while Jensen was still awake, still lost in pleasure. He just had to stretch his hand… But that felt too much like forcing himself on Jensen.

 

_Jensen is mine only to protect – from everything, even myself._

 

**************

 

“Did you sleep well, sir?”

 

It sounds like an innocent question and, indeed, Jensen’s face is the very picture of innocence and squire-ish devotion, but Jared is not fooled, not even for a second.

 

“Very well, Jensen, thank you for to ask,” he replies, his tone carelessly neutral. 

 

Jensen retrieves the empty bowl and sends him a very pointed look before correcting him, “It’s for asking, sir.”

 

“Thank you for asking, then”

 

The squire’s green eyes narrow again, but by now it’s just a habit, at least as long as grammar and vocabulary are concerned.

Jared doesn’t take it personally in any case: Jensen is not the type who trusts easily and he can’t really blame him.

 

_One day, maybe…_ But his conscience doesn’t even allow him to finish that thought. No, it’s better if they remain mostly strangers, lest Jensen should discover his secrets.

It’s easier said than done: Jensen makes him forget himself when they are together, when he can see up close how different he acts when he is in public and when he is here.

Jared shakes his head and reaches for a cup of wine. It’s no use torturing himself like this.

 

“Today is Sunday,” he says once his squire has finished putting away their bedrolls. “I suppose you want the day off?” 

 

Jensen pretends to be still busy with the bedrolls and settles for a shrug.

 

“You never asked,” Jared says. “But you have not…gone to Church since you came here.” _And you looked a little…wistful last Sunday,_ he adds in the privacy of his own mind. 

 

The young man raises an eyebrow. “I am your squire now. I thought you would want me to attend your Church. Become a Roman Christian.”

 

So, Jensen didn't believe that all the prayers Jared made him learn were only to confirm his story. No surprise here: after all, he is a knight – converting the infidels is what they do. Except there’s a limit to how much of a hypocrite Jared can be.

“You can go to any church you want, Jensen.” He replies slowly, careful to get the words right. “It’s not my business what you do out of here.” 

 

Jensen finally looks straight at him, his face open and unguarded. “You…you’d let me?”

 

Jared nods. “There are so many people here…I don’t think someone will notice you are not at Mass. You can go where you want. ”

 

Then the impossible happens: Jensen smiles and it’s like the sun coming out of the clouds. Jared finds himself grinning back like the fool he is, but he can’t stop – he made Jensen smile, made him happy and there are no words to describe how this knowledge makes him feel. 

“Thank you, sir.” He is still smiling, but ready to leave for the city. 

 

“Be careful,” he says, though he is not worried. 

 

Jensen nods. “No need to worry, sir.” He hesitates for a moment under Jared’s gaze, then Changes – that’s how Jared thinks about it. He doesn’t usually watch the process that transforms Jensen into Sir Padalecki’s squire, who is a nice boy but a little slow – a whole different person. It’s way too unsettling. He has no idea of Jensen does it, either: he never asked. Jensen probably wouldn’t answer and even if he did, Jared isn’t sure an explanation would help.

With one last nod, Jensen ducks out of their shared tent. His footsteps immediately lost in the sounds of the awakening camp.

 

Still grinning to himself, Jared finishes his wine, enjoying the last of his free time for the week.

Next Sunday, Baldwin of Flanders and Heinaut will be crowned of this new Christian empire: the celebrations will have to be grand.

Geoffrey has been talking of nothing but the huge tournament that will follow. With most of the knight preparing to participate, the whole camp will soon look like a beehive and all the squires will be worked to the ground.

 

_At least Jensen can have today_ , he muses before leaving to join lord of Kripke and the rest of his men. 

 

**************

 

By some strange twist of fate, Jensen returns to the tent a few minutes after Geoffrey arrives to congratulate him.

 

Geoffrey has been helping him check his weapons and mail and talking incessantly, but the moment Jensen steps inside, Jared forgets to pay attention.

Surprise briefly crosses the young man's face, then his mask slams back down, like a gate in front of an enemy.

 

“So here's your squire,” Geoffrey's voice startles him, but Jensen only bows to the visitor. “Bring us some wine, boy.” 

 

Jared nods almost imperceptibly over his friend's shoulder: only then Jensen moves.

 

“You have nothing to worry about, Jared. Everything looks perfectly well.” 

 

“That's hardly my credit,” Jared replies. “Lord Kripke's armourer knows is craft very well.” 

 

“Well, so do many others. Not to mention the other knights and lords.” 

 

“Are you saying I won't win, my friend?” Jared asks jokingly as he sits down at the rickety table. 

 

“Now, Jared, don't forget you'd have to get past me!” Geoffrey laughs. “Don't think I'd be an easy prey merely because I am a few years older than you.”

 

 

“In fact, it's your vast experience I fear.” 

 

Jensen choose this exact moment to return with the wine.

“ Took you long enough, boy.” Geoffrey grumbles.

 

“Beg your pardon, my lord,” he replies humbly, filling the guest's tumbler. He is still playing the part of the simple squire, but there's something different this time – something that reminds Jared of the night they met.

Wariness, perhaps.

Jensen looks like a man who has somebody spying over his shoulder and knows it.

 

Geoffrey has started talking about their future rivals, but his eyes keep subtly glancing at Jared's squire, following his every move with a deep mistrust Geoffrey can't quite conceal.

It's so strange, watching them like this.

There's clearly no love lost between them, but their animosity seems restrained, somehow.

 

_So, Jensen trusts Geoffrey less than he trusts me,_ Jared muses behind his tumbler.  _But he still doesn't trust me enough to tell me what happened between them..._ He studies them again, circling each other like tomcats.  _Perhaps nothing has happened, not yet. Hopefully, I will be there to stop it._

 

 


	4. Chapter III

_Sunday, May 16_ _th_ _1204_

 

For Jared, the coronation day begins in the morning twilight and not under the best of auspices: he dreams of Brown Haired Girl – both the most frequent and the worst of his ghosts.

He opens his eyes to nothing but complete darkness and for a long, horrible moment he can’t tell where he is, if he still dreams or is awake.

Little by little, as his heart slow down from its mad race and his eyes get used to a light that is more shades than brightness, his mind begins to clear.

It should be pleasant sensation – it used to be pleasant, back when his nightmares where only the products of his imagination and his brother’s stories, back when morning would actually make everything better instead of reminding him that it was real, it was his doing and there is nothing in the world that will ever make it better.

And today is the culmination of all their actions and he will have to be there.

 

Jared knows he has no right to complain. He knows it could be worse – Count Baldwin is a good, honourable man, he will be a just king. The thought of the coronation still makes his stomach clench.

And in a few hours, he will be in that wretched tournament and do his part in the celebrations like a conscientious trained dog.

 

Jared has stopped fooling himself. While Lord Kripke had made an announcement more than a request, he could have refused the honour – but not without unpleasant consequences. And deep down, he’s still a trained dog.

It’s a bleak realization, but no less true: he simply does not know what to do with his life.

 

Giving up any hope for sleep with a sigh, the knight sits up and carefully moves to leave his bedding.

There’s a rustling of cloth in the dark, then a voice. “Jared?” Jensen is only a shadow among shadows, but he’s right in front of him. “It’s still early. You should rest.”

 

“I just...can’t sleep anymore.”

 

“Oh.” A slight pause. “Is there anything you want?”

 

Jared can’t help but smile at the young man’s question and be glad that all the sadness his smile holds will remain hidden. “Nothing. I am just going to drink a...no, don’t get up.”

 

Too late: Jensen is already moving across the tent with the ease of a cat. Before Jared can protest again, he is offered a half-full tumbler: at this point, he can only accept it. Jensen’s warm fingers brush lightly against his own, sending a small shiver down his spine. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

A companionable silence falls as Jared sips his wine and studies the shape of Jensen’s profile.

 

“Be careful,” the younger man suddenly says. “I couldn’t water it down.”

 

“It’s fine. I think I will need more unwatered drinks before today is over.” He narrows his eyes, still studying him. “Don’t you need one, too?”

 

Jensen shrugs. “What for?”

 

“You know. Today. I...it can’t be easy for you.”

 

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever seen a crowning before.” There’s something in his voice, no matter how casual he tries to sound.

 

Jared swallows hard. “Jensen...” It’s been a while since he used his name outside the comfort of his own mind, but it still rolls easily off his tongue. “You don’t have to come. So many people will be there, nobody will notice.”

Jensen doesn’t answer.

“I am perfectly serious, you know. I will think of something. Some errand..:”

 

The younger man shakes his head. “Everyone will be there and so, I must be there too. The boys would certainly notice – and you can be sure anything they see goes back to their masters. Besides, I can’t let you be the only knight without a squire.” His last sentence is somewhat lighter, an attempt at teasing.

 

Jared finds himsel grinning and teasing right back. “It seems that my own squire is wiser than me. No, you certainly cannot leave me to go alone.”

 

“Oh, I really couldn’t. They’d eat you alive, you know,” he nods with mock seriousness, then laughs softly.

If Jared could stop time and make a single moment stretch forever, he’d do it right now, with the two of them laughing like the carefree boys they have never been.

 

Unfortunately, the sun stops his journey for no mortal: the light is growing stronger with every passing minute, chasing away the shadows and with them, this fleeting moment of closeness.

 

As Jensen raises to begin a new day, Jared gently grabs his arm and pushes the still half-full tumbler in his hands. “Here. I still think you need it.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything as he raises the tumbler to his lips, yet, in spite of the shadows, Jared is certain he saw him smile.

 

**************

 

By mid-afternoon, Jared has had enough.

He doesn’t care for anything else, not even how well he did in the solo combats: perhaps it’s the lack of sleep catching up with him, perhaps it’s the heat, but he just wants the day to be over. Just one more thing, and it will be over.

 

His squire leans in to adjust the cloth over his armour identifying him as a member of the green team and whispers, “Are you sure you can’t avoid this?”

 

“Yes, I am.” he snaps. “Are _you_ sure you have the spare lances?”

 

Jensen can’t do anything as forward as glaring at him, but his voice still holds a note of sarcasm. “Yes, sir. Checked twice, sir.”

 

Jared closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the task ahead. When he opens them again, he finds himself looking at the real Jensen instead of the usual mask. “Is there anything you need?”

 

 _A kiss for luck_. “No. No, thank you.”

 

The younger man nods in understanding and Jared looks away as the masquerade comes back.

“Jared!” Geoffrey calls, moving toward them through the crowd of horses, knights and squires. Jensen immediately turns away and busies himself with checking the lances for the third time.

  

“Geoffrey! I thought you on the stands already.”

 

“Not without wishing you the best of luck, my friend. I’m certain you will do well.”

 

Jared forced himself to smile. “Thank you, Geoffrey. I shall do my best not to disappoint.”

 

“You need not worry about disappointments. Well, I shall go find a seat now. God be with you.”

 

“And with you,” Jared answers even as the older man disappears into the crowd.

 

After that, there’s no more time for talking: their captain is yelling at them already and all the knights scramble to get in the saddle.

Following sir James, they ride out on the field among the deafening cheering of the crowd and line up on their side of their field.

 

A couple of knights subtly turn to check their squires’ position between thin embanked line and the stands, but Jared keeps his eyes on the rival team: he knows Jensen will be where they agreed.

Sir James gives the order: one by one, the green knights level their lances.

For an endless moment, nothing else moves: there are just two lines of riders facing each other, holding back their restless mounts, and then…

 

Then the bugle calls raises high in the air before drowning in cheers, war cries and thundering hooves.

Jared barely hears any of it as he spurs his horse right into the Yellow line and hangs on tightly.

 

Somehow, he manages to pass between count Ventimiglia and sir Murray without being unseated and turn his horse around at acceptable speed.

The dust from the first charge hasn’t settled yet, but the other riders are already charging at each other and choosing adversaries.

 

The game has begun.

 

Jared grits his teeth and spurs his horse into the fray, all feelings and thoughts forgotten except one: this time, he must not kill.

 

**************

 

A dull, throbbing pain cuts through the darkness. His eyes flutter open only to find light and shadows dancing across a canvas roof instead of the sky. His lungs fill with warm, stuffy air marred by the sharp tang of blood.

 

_Where...?_

 

He frowns, trying to think through the haze surrounding his mind. He remembers his lance breaking and riding back toward their base to get a replacement with count Ventimiglia at his heels, remembers engaging him and then...nothing at all.

 

“Jared? Are you awake?”

 

It’s barely a whisper, as if the speaker knew exactly how much his head hurts. Jared carefully turns his head, wincing a little when the light from a candle hits his eyes. “Jensen...” His voice sounds like rusted nails.

 

“Thank God...here, drink this,” Jensen says, helping him up and offering him some sort of honey-sweetened herbal tea, which doesn’t do much for his head but works wonders on his parched throat.

 

As he drinks, Jared’s eyes grow accustomed to the light – later, he’ll tell himself he was staring at Jensen simply because he was nearby.

Still, even in the flickering light he can see that his squire looks pale and weary, but also relieved, as if a great weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.

“What happened?” Jared asks as he lays back down on the cot.

 

“You don’t remember?”

 

Jared tries to shake his head, but stops immediately. “Nothing.”

 

Jensen looks away and hesitates before answering. “A yellow knight tried to intervene in your fight and knocked into your horse. You fell.” Jensen’s voice is filled with emotion, but Jared refuses to identify it. “We are in the infirmary, now.”

 

Jared closes his eyes as a single memory hits him – the blurry figure of a physician bending over him, Jensen standing a few feet back, staring worriedly at him as he crosses himself and...something else, a shapeless figure right out the corner of his eye.

 _Probably just a shadow._ He reasons, pretending not to notice that Jensen is the thing he remembers best.

 

“How long has it been?” he asks instead.

 

Jensen shakes his head. “I...I’m not sure. Even if...I suppose it’s Monday morning by now.”

 

“Monday...” Jared repeats, shocked.

 

 “Yes, but very early,” the younger man adds in a rush, blushing a little.

 

“Oh. Have you slept at all?”

 

“Somebody had to keep an eye on you,” he replies, his voice carefully neutral.

 

“I’m awake now. You could sleep.” Jared suggests kindly.

 

For a moment, Jensen seem to consider this. “No, it’s fine. It’s better if you stay awake,I’ll just keep you company.”

 

Jared opens his eyes, resolutely meeting Jensen’s gaze. “I will be fine. You don’t have to stay awake.”

 

Jensen’s fingers toy with the frayed end of his blanket. “It’s fine. I want to.”

His face looks suddenly warm.

 


	5. Chapter IV

_May 1204_

 

By Thursday, Jared is back on his feet and itching to take full advantage of it: he finds a willing sparring partner in sir Murray and leaves after dinner for the training grounds.

He is studying the fight between Murray and a French knight when Geoffrey calmly walks up to him. “Jared,” he says in a low voice. “You must come with me at once. Count von Kripke requires your presence.”

 

Jared stands, confused. “His lordship?” he murmurs before calling a quick farewell to the other knights and striding back to the camp. “I don’t understand… Why am I summoned, do you know, Geoffrey?”

 

The older man nods sombrely. “Yes, I do. That’s why I offered to come and fetch you myself. It’s better if your hear it before we get there.”

 

“Hear what?” Jared asks, worried.

 

“There is no easy way to say it, so here it is: your squire is currently under arrest .”

 

The news is so unexpected, so outlandish that it makes the young knight stop in his tracks. “Jensen arrested! No…no, it can’t be!” _I promised him I would protect him!_

 

Geoffrey gently wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him forward. “Come, my friend. We are expected.”

 

Jared, however, will have none of it. “Why was he arrested?” he growls, shrugging off Geoffrey’s comforting arm and walking even faster. “On what charges? I can’t believe it!”

 

“Calm down, Jared, let me explain.” Geoffrey grabs his arm. “Listen, this not a trial yet, but it’s better if we establish the depth of his deceit right away. We must make it clear you had nothing to do with it.”

 

“Deceit?” he frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

 

“I mean how that little son of a bitch used you to infiltrated our camp. He is not the good Christian boy he pretended to be. He’s one of them – a spy, probably. Certainly an heretic! But we must make clear you knew nothing of it.”

 

 

“That’s ridiculous! I know him…” Jared replies angrily, but Geoffrey doesn’t let him finish: “I knew you wouldn’t want to believe it, but you must not let your pride cloud your reason. Denounce him right now, Jared, it’s your only chance. There must be something you can say to show you suspected him.”

 

 

Jared presses his lips into a tight line and does not answer as they enter the count’s large tent, quickly trying to assess the situation: von Kripke sits on carved chair like an emperor on his throne, surrounded by his major vassals and advisors. Jensen is on his knees before them, his head bowed and his wrists and ankles secured in iron manacles.

It’s enough to make Jared’s blood run cold.

 

Von Kripke greets them with a court nod. “Sir Padalecki, lord de Morgaine. Now that you are here, we can begin.”

 

Jared steps forward, forcing himself to remain calm. “Your lordship, my lords, I understand there are serious accusations against my squire.”

 

“It is so, sir Padalecki. He is accused of being a spy for the Greeks.”

 

“As my squire, everything he does reflects upon me as well. He has been with me for more than a month now – perhaps not a very long time, but I have come to know him and he never gave me reason to suspect his loyalty.”

 

Geoffrey steps forward as well. “Of course he would be careful around you. The boy is dense, but not a complete fool.”

 

Jared regards him coldly. “I’d like to know how this started. Is it because he was born here? He never denied it and that doesn’t make him any less of a good Christian.”

 

“But what sort of Christian, exactly?” Geoffrey replies haughtily. “Do you know that, Jared? When you were laid up with the physician, I saw that lying son of a bitch cross himself the Greek way.”

 

 

Quick as lightning, that tattered memory flashes before his eyes. _The dark shadow. Jensen was looking at me, he didn’t see him coming... Damn it!_

Unconsciously, he straightens his back even more, as if he was readying himself for battle. “Are you ready to swear it, sir de Morgaine? Remember, an innocent man’s life is at stake.”

 

Geoffrey snorts incredulously. “An innocent man? Hardly!”

 

“Nothing has been proven yet. Could you swear it?”

 

The older knight frowns and steps forward menacingly. “Are you calling me a liar, sir Padalecki?”

 

“I am not,” Jared replies evenly. “In fact, I believe you are being completely truthful. I am merely allowing for the fact that you might have made a mistake.”

 

 

“I made no mistakes! I know exactly what I saw and I ought to give you a thrashing for implying that, you arrogant pup.”

 

“If this is your challenge,” Jared replies, his voice cold and cutting as the Northern wind. “I accept it.”

Jensen flinches imperceptibly at his words – at least, imperceptibly for everybody else , but not for Jared, who sees him out of the corner of his eye.

 

Geoffrey opens his mouth to reply, but the count stands, effectively cutting him off: “Enough! We have not come this far to fight among ourselves!”

 

“My lord, sir de Morgaine has insulted my honour. If this court cannot decide, I am ready to prove him wrong in a trial by combat.”

 

Von Kripke glares at him. “Your determination is duly noted, sir Padalecki. Let us continue before it comes to that.”

 

Another man steps forward – a priest, not a knight.

Jared inwardly thanks all the saints watching over them as he recognizing Father Lehne.

“We must recognize,” he says, “that sir Padalecki’s objection does have some merit: it’s entirely possible that sir de Morgaine’s eyes might have been tricked by the light. I believe we can solve everything quite easily.” He turns to Jensen, addressing him in a kind voice. “Cross yourself, young man.”

 

Jensen raises his head, stealing a quick glance at sir Jared. There’s a queer expression on his face, almost like...relief.

Straightening his back, he opens his right hand and raises it to his forehead. “ _In nomine patris..._ ” Down on his chest, as far as the chain will allow, “ _...et filiis...”_ Left shoulder, right shoulder. “ _...et spiritus sancti, amen_.” His right joins his left hand, palm against palm.

 

 

Father Lehne nods. “Now the Apostle’s creed, if you please.”

 

Jensen takes a deep breath and obediently starts reciting: “ _Credo in Deum patrem omnipotentem, creatorem caeli et terrae..._ ”

 

Jared can feel Geoffrey’s glare on him, but he does not care: Jensen holds his complete attention, the foreign words falling easily from his lips as if he had been repeating them his whole life, and as his beloved prays, in the sanctuary of his own mind, so does he. _Forgive us this deception, my Lord: don’t look at our words but at the faith in our hearts. If there be a price, let me be the only one to pay._ _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa._

 

“... _et vitam aeternam, amen_.”

 

“Good, good,” father Lehne says. “Just one more thing, then...Yes, the Hail Mary.”

 

 

Jared’s blood runs cold. He hasn’t taught Jensen the Hail Mary, he didn’t have time. Without thinking, he starts moving forward, ready to stop everything before they realize it – then Jensen, the real Jensen is looking straight at him, a clear order in his eyes that stops him in his tracks.

 

Before Jared can say or do anything, Jensen is looking ahead again and speaking calmly. “ _Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedecta tu in mulieribus…_ ” The pronunciation is not as polished, but somehow it works: it makes the scene look real.

 

Jared keeps his staring at his squire, feeling proud, hopeful and almost deliriously happy all at once.

“ _...ora pro nobis eccatoribus nunc and in hora mortis nostrae, amen._ ”

 

For a moment, nobody speaks, then father Lehne smiles at the kneeling squire turns to the assembled knights: “This is proof enough for me.”

 

Count von Kripke nods. “So is for me.”

 

Geoffrey tries to protest: “My lord, the second accusation...”

 

“...was merely a suspicion based on Ackles’ religion.” Von Kripke interrupts. “It has been proven to my satisfaction that this young man is in fact a Latin Christian. He can go back to his duties without further delay. Sir Padalecki, my apologies for doubting your words.”

 

Jared almost doesn’t hear him, too engrossed with watching the manacles being removed from Jensen’s limbs. “None was necessary, my lord. Thank you for presiding our case.” He reaches out, helping Jensen to his feet. “If we are not needed anymore, I wish to retire to my tent.”

 

“Very well, sir Padalecki. You are excused.”

 

 

“Thank you, my lord,” he says as he bows, one hand on his squire’s shoulder to keep him from toppling over.

His hand stays there even as they rise and walk away, steadying him when he stumbles and gently guiding him through the flaps and out in the open air.

 

Geoffrey follows them out, glaring at both of them. “This isn’t over yet, Padalecki.”

Jared doesn’t answer, just squeezes Jensen’s shoulder and softly pushes him away.

 

They exchange no words as they cross the camp. Although Jared is painfully aware of the rough cloth under his palm and the quick glances Jensen keeps throwing him, he can’t bring himself to remove his hand.

It’s all he remembers of their walk back to their tent.

 

When they finally get there, Jared has to blink as he steps inside: everything looks normal, untouched by the afternoon’s events.

Slowly, reluctantly, Jared lets go of Jensen’s shoulder and drops on his bed with a sigh, hiding his face in his hands. He still feels as if a boulder was crushing his chest.

 

“Si...Jared?” Jensen whispers, his first real words in who knows how many hours and Jared can’t bring himself to ignore him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, not looking at him.

 

“Sorry? What for?” Jensen replies, sitting down beside him. “I should apologize: it’s my fault you were dragged into this mess. If I had been more careful...”

 

“It wasn’t your fault. You just acted on instinct – it was bound to happen sooner or later.” Jared sighs. “It was just bad luck that Geoffrey should walk in right then. If you want to blame someone, blame him: he should have talked to me first. He had no right to have you arrested...” he adds, almost growling.

 

 

“I already do. Blame him, I mean.” The younger man shrugs, his movement uncovering the red marks at his wrists.

 

Jared can’t take his eyes off of them. “Does it hurt? Your wrists – and your...”

 

“Ankles? A little.” Another shrug. “It will pass.”

 

Jared looks away again, his hands itching to reach out and touch. “I’m sorry. I said I would protect you and then...”

 

“Then you did,” he says, unceremoniously cutting him off. “You taught me your prayers. I’d be dead if you hadn’t.”

 

Jared hurriedly shakes his head, trying to banish the hundreds, thousands of images that swim before his mind’s eye – Jensen hanged, stoned, tied at the stake... He has to look up, look at the real man beside him before he drowns in them.

“I didn’t teach you the last one. The _Ave Maria_.”

 

 

This time it’s Jensen who looks away, reddening. “I listened to you – when you pray, you always say it. I just paid attention.”

 

 

Jared nods, still looking at him. “Good. You were...really brave in there, Jensen.”

 

Another feeling flickers on his face, but it’s gone before Jared can identify it. “Thank you. I just...did my best. I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

 

Jared doesn’t say anything. After such an afternoon, his heart is screaming at him to pull Jensen closer and hold him tight, make sure he’s still there because sight is not enough, he needs to touch, to feel him in his arms, under his hands... But he doesn’t move.

_If I touch him now, I’ll never let him go._

 

******************

  

At night, Jared dreams of fire.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_June 1204_

 

_Red and yellow flames spreading quickly, eating away the bottom of the pyre – a lone figure amidst the smoke, coughing and shaking. He can feel the heat on his face, hands all over his body pushing him back, trying to pin him down as the flames rise higher still and he’s screaming, oh God he’s burning – JENSEN!_

 

Jared awakes with a start, still tasting the sickening mixture of wood, smoke and charred flesh – but it’s just a dream, just another memory from Zara.

Jensen is still asleep, laying peacefully on his side in his pallet, his breath soft and even.

Jared lays back down, still trembling from his nightmare. His new ghost, maybe, as he hasn’t dreamt about his old victims in weeks now. Not since Jensen’s trial.

He almost misses them.

 

**************

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to see a physician?” sir Murray asks, frowning as he hands him a cup of wine.

  

Jared shakes his head. “Thank you, sir Micheal, but I am fine, really. You didn’t hit me _**that** _ hard.”

 

 In spite of his jovial tone, sir Micheal is not appeased: “I shouldn’t have been able to hit you at all!” He sits down beside him. “You are not yourself lately – not since that boy of yours got in trouble. What’s on your mind?”

 

Jared’s back stiffens, but he forces himself to relax: sir Micheal doesn’t mean anything by that and Jared should have known the whole ordeal would be all over the camp within an hour, let alone two weeks. Come to think, it’s strange nobody has accosted him before.

 

“I’m fine,” he insists. “Just...you know, there’s so much to decide now.”

  

The other knight nods: he knows that, in spite of their initial objective, most captains are satisfied with this new Latin empire. “Count Ventimiglia is among those who wish to go back home. Do you know what your lord thinks?”

 

“Count von Kripke wants to leave as well. I was hoping he would push for Jerusalem, but...” he shakes his head. “He too feels his vow is fulfilled.”

 

Sir Micheal smirks, although not unkindly. “You really did want to see the Holy Land, didn’t you?”

 

Jared takes another sip of wine and looks down at his cup.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go back home, but going on alone would be pointless.” Micheal is a good man, but he doesn’t have to know everything Jared thinks.

 

“Have you considered staying here?” he suggests.

  

“I have. Lord von Kripke promised to speak to His Highness the Emperor on my behalf, but it’s still uncertain whether I’ll be permitted to serve him.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Micheal replies, amicably slapping his shoulder. “Shall we have another go? And please keep your head on training, this time.”

  

Jared drains his cup and stands. “Another time, Michael: I don’t think I’m up for it right now. Farewell.”

 

“Farewell, Jared. Remember I’m looking forward to our rematch.”

  

With one last farewell, Jared walks away from the training grounds, casually strolling through the camp as he allows his mind to wander.

As usual, when he tries not to think about his uncertain position or his restless nights, his mind ends up dwelling on the third cause of his distraction: Jensen.

Jared is not the only one who hasn’t been himself lately.

 

After the brief moment they shared, Jensen has suddenly become distant, closed off – as if they were back to the first days of their acquaintance.

Possibly even worse: Jared has no proof, but he knows that some of the other boys that used to be Jensen’s friends have turned against him.

_I swear that boy is more frustrating than the current situation: at least I know I have done all I can there! If only he’d tell me what’s going on, I could find a way to help him._ He sighs. _He probably doesn’t trust me anymore – and how could he, I almost got him killed..._

 

A sudden noise attracts his attention: looking up, he finds himself on the other side of the camp, not far from one of the wells. There’s a group of boys gathered in a circle about sixty yards ahead, shouting and yelling.

Jared frowns and starts moving towards them when the circle breaks for a second, allowing him to glimpse the true cause of their excitement: two boys rolling around in the dirt, locked into a furious fight.

 

For a second, Jared can but stare as Jensen viciously punches the other boy in the face, then the circle closes again and he breaks into a run, cursing his armour for weighing him down.

His curses double when he sees sir de Morgaine break in and drag Jensen off of the dark-haired boy: even at a distance, he can see the cruel satisfaction on the older knight’s face.

He forces himself to run faster.

 

“...deal with you as you deserve, you lying little shit!” Geoffrey is hauling back his arm for a punch while Jensen looks ready to give it back with interests.

 

“Morgaine!” Jared shouts as he pushes the other squires out of his way. “Take your hands off of him! What’s the meaning of this?”

  

Geoffrey lowers his arm, clearly disappointed, but his left hand remains wrapped around Jensen’s collar. “Padalecki. Your squire needs to be taught a lesson.”

 

“His teachings,” Jared growls. “are my responsibility, not yours. Unhand him.”

 

“Not until I’ve taught him his place! This rabid animal you have the cheek to call your squire has attacked my squire without provocation!”

 

Jared glances carelessly at the other boy still laying in the dust, his face covered with blood. “That seems debatable.” He remarks almost casually, then steps forward, looming threateningly over the other knight. “Let-him-go.”

 

Geoffrey sneers, but pushes the younger man away.

A quick glance assures him that Jensen has barely got a scratch on him: with a ripped sleeve and some bloodstains, his shift seems to have taken the most damage, but he is still staring at de Morgaine with rage in his eyes.

“Go back to my tent, Jensen. Now!” Jared barks when the younger man opens his mouth to protest.

 

With one last, resentful glare in his direction, he turns and strides away.

 

Jared doesn’t watch him go, immediately meeting de Morgaine’s cold gaze. “If you are not going to punish your boy, I...”

 

“You will kindly refer to me when there’s any punishing to be done. How I’m going to do it is none of your business and I will not tolerate any interference.”

 

Geoffrey glares at him and mutters, “This isn’t over yet, Padalecki.”

 

“I believe it is,” he replies coldly as he walks away.

 

It’s a long way to his own tent, crossing half the camp, but it’s not nearly long enough for Jared to calm down – with each step, his anger grows.

_That bloody idiot, what the Hell was he thinking? Does he want to be hanged?! With all the squires in the camp, he goes and pick a fight with bloody Geoffrey de Morgaine’s! Christ’s blood, I thought he had more sense than that! If he doesn’t have a good explanation, I swear I’ll throttle him myself!_ He fumes silently as his tent comes into view. _He better be there, or else.._

Jared ducks inside and all his reprimands die on his lips.

 

Jensen is standing there in his hosen and drawers, caught in the act of slipping off his shift, but Jared barely registers it: he can only see Jensen’s back and the angry mess of scars criss-crossing each other everywhere he looks.

Jensen lowers his arms and starts turning, perhaps feeling his gaze, but Jared crosses the space between them in two strides, his hands gently cupping Jensen’s shoulders as he takes in all his wounds.

His squire doesn’t move, just hangs his head as if in defeat, a flush already creeping over the back of his neck.

“Who did this to you?” Jared asks with murder in his eyes.

 

Jensen shakes his head. “No one.”

 

Jared doesn’t say a word. Slowly, gently, he spins the younger man around to face him, his hands still on his shoulders. “Who?”

 

Another shrug. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I deserved it.” Jensen steps back, away from him, and raises his head with a smile on his lips – a smile that strikes Jared like the blade of a dagger, so cold and detached. “I used to be a bad boy, you know,” he says mockingly as he puts on his clean shift.

 

Jared grits his teeth in frustration. “Help with my hauberk, bad boy,” he orders him harshly.

 

The younger man steps closer without a complaint as Jared bends at the waist, letting the shirt’s weight and Jensen’s efforts do their work.

In a minute, the mail finally falls to the floor. Jared moves to the water basin and starts washing himself with a wet cloth, leaving his squire to put away his armour. He can hear the links clinking as Jensen lifts the shirt and starts cleaning it.

 

Jared drops the rag, slips on a chemise and sinks tiredly on his pallet. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, just watches Jensen work – the angle of his neck, the way his fingers move, the calm expression on his face.

If it wasn’t for the red mark on his cheek that will soon become a bruise, he could hardly believe this is the same man who was rolling around in the dirt and throwing punches only half an hour ago.

“Why did you fight with Lord de Morgaine’s squire?” he asks softly.

 

Jensen’s shoulders stiffen noticeably, but he doesn’t stop working. “He deserved it!” he growls, angrier than Jared has ever seen him before. “I told him I’d teach him a lesson if he didn’t…” he cuts himself off abruptly, the broken sentence hanging in the air.

 

“If he didn’t what?” No answer. “Is he giving you trouble?”

 

Jensen shrugs. “He tries, but I know how to deal with him and his friends. Besides, some of the boys are still on my side.”

 

“Then what did he do to make you react like that? You can control yourself so well,” he adds, looking straight at him.

 

Jensen squirms uncomfortably under his gaze. “It’s just…he was talking of things he knows nothing about.”

 

“He was going to spread rumours?”

  

He winces. “Not exactly…but he did say it and…I had to make sure he wouldn’t repeat it.”

 

Jared nods. “Was it about me?”  This time, he hesitates – which all the confirmation Jared needs. “I see. What did he say?”

 

“He won’t be repeating that, sir, I made sure of it!”

  

Jared smiles a little. “I don’t doubt it. However, the damage may have been already done.” Silence. “Jensen, I need to know what he said.”

 

Jensen looks away. “I…I dare not repeat it, sir.”

 

“Please…”

 

That simple word is enough to break any resistance: Jensen slumps a little in his seat, then murmurs softly, “He implied you were a sodomite. It was a wicked thing to say!”

 

Jared swallows hard, trying to keep his fear in check. _He was just baiting Jensen…I haven’t been with anyone since I left and my parents wouldn’t have told anyone, it was just a slander. My nightmares are just that, if they were prophetic dreams_ _**I** _ _’d be the one dying._

“Yes, it is,” he finally says, as calmly as he dares “And I believe his master won’t thank him, either. Lord de Morgaine and I might have our differences, but he is a honourable man.” He adds, noticing Jensen’s mistrustful face, then forces a smile. “Don’t worry about it, Jensen. He won’t be repeating that anymore. In any case, I’ll take care to pay a visit to Chrysanthe.”

The name of the notorious brothel owner has a curious effect on Jensen, almost as if he couldn’t hold back a start of recognition.

 

Before Jared can think about it, however, they are interrupted by a light scratching on the canvas and he has to greet the visitor – none other than von Kripke’s own quire. “Sir Jared, my lord has important news for you. He awaits you in his tent.”

Jared nods, already reaching for some finer garments. “Thank you.”

 

A few minutes later, as he follows his lord to the imperial palace for a short but vital audience, a sudden thought crosses his mind: at least, now he knows where Jensen stands – and, really, was there ever any doubt?

 


	7. Chapter 7

_July 1204_

 

There’s no respite from the heat, not even at night, when it seems to rise from the very ground. All over the city, from the poorest shack to the imperial palace, people huff and curse the weather while the air remains resolutely humid and still.

Up in his room, behind the stone walls of his new lodgings, Jared lies in his bed with all the sheets pushed down at his feet, his face toward the open window and a thin layer of sweat already covering his skin, the refreshing effect of his bath already lost.

He has been tossing and turning for hours now and he’s seriously starting to contemplate doing away with his shift when the door to his room quietly opens.

Jared’s hand reflexively moves to the dagger beneath his pillow even as he turns, only to fall away when he sees Jensen standing gingerly on the doorway.

“Hey…” he says, frowning a little. “What’s the matter?”

 

Jensen is looking straight at him, that’s all he can tell in the dark. “I just…heard you tossing and turning,” he whispers, half-nodding back to his own bed in the anteroom.

 

“You can’t sleep?” Jared sits up in his bed. “Come in, if you want.”

 

Jensen does, closing the door behind him just as quietly. Jared watches him closely as he crosses the room – the way his shoulders hunch as if he were carrying a great weight, the uncertainty written clearly in every line of his body even as he leans against the wall and looks out on the city, his handsome face caught between moonlight and shadow.

 

For a while, both men are too wrapped up in their own thoughts to speak. Silence stretches between them, heavy and awkward and not at all like the ones they used to share back before the trial.

They haven’t been this close outside of duty in a long time.

Jared knows he should not delude himself – Jensen just came here because his room has no windows, he’ll never be troubled enough to want to talk to him, he should be relieved about their distance… but he can’t help himself. He’ll take what he can get.

 

Not surprisingly, it’s Jensen who speaks first. “You are risking a lot because of me, sir.”

 

It’s not a question, but Jared answers anyway. “I wouldn’t say that. You are risking your very life…”

 

“So are you,” he cuts him off, turning around to face him. “I’m a danger to you. We had ample proof of _**that**_.”

 

Jared huffs, annoyed. “I told you not to worry about Lord de Morgaine, I can deal with him.”

 

“He means to ruin you. He’ll have no peace until he succeeds.”

 

“As I said, I can deal with him.”

 

Jensen crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes sharp and stubborn. “Why did you argue in my favour at the trial? Any sane man would have immediately distanced himself from me. I know Lord de Morgaine advised you so.”

 

Jared would like nothing more than dismiss his concerns, tell him he was sure they would win and the whole farce would stop – but that would be lying and Jensen would know. He looks away.

“The night we met…” he says carefully. “I promised I’d protect you until you found a safe place. Unless you have, there’s no use in arguing.” The mere thought of Jensen leaving is most definitely not making cold sweat run down his spine, nor making his heart beat faster.

 

The younger man keeps staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “What makes you think I must be worth protecting, sir Jared?”

 

Startled, Jared abruptly stands and crosses the space between them, stopping right in front of him. “What on Earth are you talking about? Of course you are!”

 

Jensen looks away. “When you found me, you thought I was a _**favoured son** _ ,” he almost spits the words, full of venom. “You thought my family put me there to protect me when you attacked the city, but that’s not true. I had been locked in that room for months before your people came.”

 

In his mind’s eye, Jared suddenly sees Jensen’s scarred back. _An old flogging, but not too old…_ “Was that all they did?” he asks, his voice dangerously low.

 

Jensen looks startled, but only for a moment. “You mean my back? That was just my father trying to beat my sin out of me. They locked me beside the chapel so I could repent and be purified.”

 

“Your sin?” Jared repeats angrily, disbelievingly.

 

Jensen glares. “It’s not only my religion that makes me dangerous to you!” He hisses. “If de Morgaine and his idiot squire find out about me, they won’t just ruin you: they’ll send you to the gallows for sodomy! I was already condemned by my own family, I’m all the proof they’ll ever need!”

 

It takes a couple of seconds for his words to sink in. “Are you saying that you are… that you…”

 

“Yes, I am.” Jensen replies calmly, almost proudly.

 

Jared stares, gaping, a thousand thoughts flittering through his mind. “Why are you telling me all this?” he finally blurts out and, despite his desire to gain the younger man’s trust, his first instinct is to grab him and yell at him for being so careless, how does he know he can trust Jared?

 

A sharp intake of breath. “Because…” he whispers, smiling sadly. “…I am in love with you.”

All Jared’s thoughts grind suddenly to a halt. He keeps opening and closing his mouth, speechless and completely thunderstruck.

Jensen looks away. “I know you keep a dagger under your pillow,” he says, still in that low, resigned voice. “You can’t denounce me and you can’t keep me in your service after this. So just…kill me. I’d rather die by your hand than be your ruin.”

 

At this point, Jared knows he should say something, anything, but the words won’t come. Too many revelations, too many feelings at war inside him – relief, anger, happiness, fear, desire, they send his mind spinning, caught in the middle of a battle he can’t win.

So, he does the only thing he can: he shuts his mind and lets his instincts take over.

 

Jensen’s back hits the wall with a thud, then Jared’s mouth descends on his in a searing kiss.

“Don’t you...ever...say that...again” Jared mutters, capturing and re-capturing those tempting lips, never leaving him enough time to answer. “I could never hurt you.”

 

“Jared...” Jensen looks up at him, eyes wide, red cheeks and bruised lips – it’s all he sees before being dragged down for another hungry kiss.

 

He doesn’t have time to wonder if he’s dreaming: Jensen pulls him closer, he can feel his firm body against his own, under his hands. It’s still not close enough, their shifts are still between them – a maddening, unbearable barrier.

Jared grabs a handful of cloth and starts pulling up, barely resisting the urge to tear it off. Always quick on the uptake, Jensen raises his arms and drags the offending garment off, letting it fall on the ground as he offers his naked body to Jared’s gaze, unashamed and unafraid.

 

Jared unconsciously licks his lips, his eyes never leaving the gorgeous sight before him as he reaches for his own shift.

This time, his lover is faster than him, his lovely hands expertly tugging it off him then settling back on his skin, exploring and caressing.

Jared moans and kisses him again, whispering half a promise against his neck: “The things I’m going to do to you...”

 

At the very back of his mind, Jared knows he should stop, they ought to talk about this and what it means for them, but then Jensen squeezes Jared’s buttocks and moans one word: “Please...”

In that single word, Jared is completely and utterly lost. Jensen’s back hits the wall again, then Jared is pressing against him, his mouth kissing and licking every inch of his neck, and he instinctively spreads legs and bucks his hips, seeking more contact, more friction, more _**anything** _.

 

All thoughts of stopping melt away. Jared’s whole world narrows down to Jensen’s body and Jensen’s soft moans and their bodies’ uneven, frantic pace.

It’s all too much and not enough, but he is beyond caring, beyond thinking: he is just a chaotic mess of feeling and want.

Then it comes – that half sob, half moan followed by a sharp intake of breath as Jensen falls apart against him.

That little sound is enough to make him lose control: one last thrust and he’s coming, his semen and Jensen’s mixing over their skin like an indelible mark.

 

Then, there’s no other sound but their laboured breathing as they simply stand there by the window. Jared feels Jensen lean forward, resting his forehead against his shoulder, and, without thinking, he starts caressing the back of his head. “I love you too. Love you so much. You know that, right?” he murmurs.

Jensen’s answer is just a nod, but Jared can feel him smile. It makes his knees tremble even more.

 

Without another word, he lets his hand fall to Jensen’s shoulder, simply guiding him toward the bed and gently pushing him to lie down when he hesitates.

The moment Jensen finally lays down, a contented sigh escapes from his lips and he somehow manages to stretch horizontally, like an oversized cat.

Jared catches himself staring and instinctively averts his eyes before realizing it’s a little too late to be coy.

 

Jensen is looking up at him, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Like what you see?” he asks, more happy than seductive.

 

Jared let his eyes wander, unabashedly admiring the lithe body before him. “Very much”

 

“Then why don’t you join me?”

 

“You know, technically speaking, this is still my bed,” he teases as he lays down beside him.

 

“ ‘m not going to move,” Jensen replies, refusing to be baited. “Too comfortable.”

 

Jared turns on his side, watching him. “I don’t want you to move…” His fingertips gently brush Jensen’s chest, making him shiver. “You look different…”

 

“Different?”

 

“Yes. Less guarded.”

 

“It’s just… it’s good to know where I stand. Hiding everything all the time…it gets tiring.”

 

“I know.” Jared says, leaning down to kiss his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you told me. How did you know I wouldn’t...” he trails off, unwilling to let those words sully their newfound peace.

  

“I wasn’t planning to tell you at all...” Jensen hesitates for a split second before resolving to continue. “I suspected something, but I had nothing to go on – half the time I was convinced it was just wishful thinking.”

 

“Really?” Jared asks, trying for nonchalant curiosity and failing. “What made you suspect?”

 

“The way you reacted when I told you about those rumours. It just didn’t fit.”

 

Jared nods slowly. “I remember. You said it was a terrible thing to say and I thought...well, it makes sense you would,” he adds grimly, his fingertips lovingly caressing Jensen’s cheek.

 

“Yes. But it was just a suspicion, I couldn’t act on that. Then I heard about de Morgaine... I was terrified he’d find out about my past and use me against you. I couldn’t let it happen.” There’s a determined edge in his voice.

 

The thought of what Jensen might have done to protect him sends a chill down his spine. “I’m glad you came to talk to me,” he whispers.

 

“I owed you as much.”

 

“There’s no way I’ll let you go now, do you realize that?” Jared says huskily, his hand now teasing Jensen’s nipple, making him shiver.

 

“Mmm...might not be safe...” Jared’s fingers gently press against his lips.

 

“Sssh...we’ll find a way.” He shudders when a soft tongue peeks out from between his lips, gently licking his skin. “Tomorrow. We’ll think of something. Now come here.”

Except he doesn’t leave him time to do it, simply rolling over him and trapping him against the bed.

 

Jensen raises his head and meets his lips in a slow, deep kiss, exploring his mouth almost lazily – like a man who has all the time in the world.

Jared’s whole body trembles him pleasure. He could spend the whole night just like this, just kissing Jensen.

But there is still so much he wants to try before the night is over – things he only ever heard about, things he never thought he’d get for himself.

_I can. I really can. With_ _**Jensen** _ _._

 

He breaks away from those tempting lips, licking and kissing his way down Jensen’s neck as his hands roam over his lithe frame.

“Jared...” his lover moans, trying to squirm beneath him.

 

“Sssh...” His tongue finds Jensen’s left nipple, lavishing it with the proper attention it deserves and marvelling at low, pleased sounds coming from Jensen’s throat – so arousing.

He can’t bring himself to move for a while, then his lips move lower, pressing soft kisses on Jensen’s firm stomach, on the sharp curve of his hipbones and finally, finally on the tip of his cock.

Jensen is only half-hard – Jared nervously licks his own lips, then ducks his head and takes him in his mouth. Jensen’s whole body  shudders.

 

Jared’s small smile turns into a frown when a hand tangles in his hair, pulling him back.

“You don’t like it?” he asks. “It’s…not good?”

  

“It is – I mean, you just...you shouldn’t...”

 

“Don’t you worry about it,” Jared replies firmly, laying a sweet kiss on Jensen’s hip. “I want to. I really, really want to.”

 

The younger man stares. “You do?”

 

Jared can feel himself blushing – and how ridiculous is _**that** _ – so tries for a grin. “Well, it won’t be much, I’ve never done it before…”

 

“You haven’t?”

 

It’s the first time since, well, ever, that Jensen has willingly, knowingly interrupted him – such a small thing, a trifle, really. It still makes him ridiculously happy.

“Er… not to someone else, never.”

 

“And now you…want to. With me.”

 

“Simple as that.” Jared says, smiling. “So…can I?”

 

Jensen swallows hard. There’s not enough light, but Jared knows he must be blushing as well. “Yes.”

 

Another kiss on his skin, then he takes him back in his mouth, slow and careful. It feels strange at first, but not wrong, it could never be wrong with Jensen writhing like this, sounding like this, hardening in his mouth.

If their roles were reversed, Jared couldn’t find it more arousing – it’s a slow, hot thrill.

“Jared…Jared, please…”

  

He tries to take him deeper, but suddenly Jensen’s hands are pushing him away rather than closer.

“What’s wrong?” Jared asks worriedly, his eyes searching the younger man’s face.

Jensen’s gaze is steady and calm – not a single trace of fear. “Do you want me to stop?”

 

Jensen shakes his head. “No, but…I want more than this, Jared. I want to be with you in every way.”

 

It takes a couple of second for his meaning to sink in. Jared can’t hold back a smile. “Might be hanged for a sheep as well as a lamb, mmm?”

 

Jensen kicks him in the shoulder – more like nudges him with his foot, really, but his displeasure is clear. “Don’t joke about it!”

 

“I’m sorry, you’re right.”

 

Jensen finds his gaze and holds it. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want it.”

 

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?” He ducks his head, feeling himself blush. “And it’s not really a matter of not wanting to…have you, it’s just that I’ve never done it.”

 

“Neither have I,” Jensen shrugs.

 

“Oh. But…”

 

“I want you.” Jensen cuts him short. “I want us to have this.”

 

Jared swallows hard. “All right. We’ll figure it out. Er…I think we’ll need something to…” His eyes slide downwards.

 

Jensen rolls on his side and grabs something from the bedside table – a small bottle of oil for the lamp, Jared belatedly realizes. “This should do.”

 

“Good. All right.” He licks his lips nervously. “I should…start slowly. My fingers, maybe?”

 

“That…sounds good,” the younger man replies, handing over the vial.

 

Jared takes it and uncorks it. “Lay back down. No, on your back…like before.”

 

Jensen throws him a puzzled glance, but obeys, blushing under Jared’s scrutiny. “You are planning something, aren’t you?”

 

Jared smiles, uncorking the vial and pouring some oil on his hand. “Maybe. Spread your legs – yes, like that.” He bends down and takes him back in his mouth, sucking and licking.

 

Jensen moans, arching off the bed. “That…that’s not…” He moans again, feeling Jared’s fingers carefully explore his entrance. “You’re bloody genius”

 

Jared grins and sucks a little harder, bobbing his head while his fingers keep stroking and caressing, spreading more oil. His hands are trembling, but Jensen doesn’t notice.

As much as he wants to, he still hesitates to go further – but then Jensen whimpers and bucks his hips, trying to push back against his hand. “Come on, Jared…”

 

Jared takes a deep breath and starts pushing a finger in, slow and careful. He is ready to stop at the first sign of distress, but none comes.

It’s so strange being able to explore Jensen’s body like this, inside as well as outside – strange and wonderful.

 

More oil is poured, another finger added and then, then Jensen gasps and shudder, his hands clenching on the sheets.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

 

“N-no…just…that spot…”

 

Jared tentatively thrusts his fingers again. “Here?”

 

Jensen almost arches off the bed. “Yes…yes, there!”

 

“So…like this…” He takes him back in his mouth and thrusts his fingers a little harder, unable to look away as Jensen struggles not to move, delicious shivers wracking his body.

 

“I won’t last…” he moans helplessly. “Another…”

He still whines when Jared lets go of his cock to comply.

 

“One of these days…” he whispers hotly against his skin as his oiled fingers start moving in and out of his lover. “I’ll make you come just like this…just with my fingers and my mouth…”

 

Jensen swears in Greek, then reaches down and tries to pull Jared up. “Enough…Jared, now…”

 

Jared hesitates. “Jensen…”

 

“I’m ready, please, please, I want it, I want you…”

  

Jared moves back. “All right. All right. Perhaps you should…it would be easier if you were on your stomach. Maybe.”

 

As Jensen turns around, Jared finds himself staring at the scarred mess on his back, clearly visible even in the scarce light. He immediately feels his throat closing, as if the noose was already around his neck.

 

“Jared?” Jensen’s voice is suddenly hesitant, brittle.

Just as quickly, Jared is back in the here and now. “I’m here.” He settles back between the younger man’s thighs, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you, not now, not ever,” He knows he’s babbling, but he can’t help it, not when he’s finally sliding into his lover’s body “I love you, I love you so much.”

 

Jensen shudders, his muscles instinctively resisting the intrusion – Jared can’t see his face, but he can tell he’s fighting, struggling to relax and not cry out in pain.

All he can do is force himself to stay still and breathe deeply, let Jensen’s own body set the pace as he presses kiss after kiss to his back, lips and tongue tenderly tracing his scars.

It’s a slow, agonizing journey, inch by careful inch, and Jared enjoys every second. It’s glorious, simply glorious.

Jensen lets out a slow breath, murmuring something against his pillow.

 

“You alright?” Jared whispers.

 

“Yes. Keep going.”

 

Jared swallows hard and obeys, drawing back a little only to slide steadily back in, again and again until he finally hits that sweet spot. Jensen gasps, his whole body shivering with pleasure.

 

“Harder.”

 

Jared swallows hard. “No. I’ll hurt you.”

 

Somehow, Jensen has enough breath to snort. “You won’t.”

 

“Can’t…can’t risk it.” Even as he says it, though, he knows with devastating certainty that if Jensen insists, he’ll give in – he’s not strong enough to resist him, never has been.

Suddenly, inspiration strikes.

“I have an idea.” He lays one last kiss on Jensen’s scars before carefully pulling back.

 

“An idea, mmm?” Jensen asks, watching him as he crawls back up on the bed.

 

“It’s a good one” He sits down with his back against the headboard and pulls the younger man in his lap, kissing away his displeasure. “A brilliant one.”

 

Jensen smiles and leans in to steal another kiss. “I agree.”

 

There’s a bit of scrambling for the oil – the very last of it, but luckily enough for their needs – then Jensen starts lowering himself on Jared’s hard cock.

Jared shudders, muttering a curse in Polish. “So beautiful….”

This is, without a doubt, the best moment of his life – nothing has ever felt so perfect, so right. He can’t get enough of Jensen – of the way his body moves, the way he looks at him, how hot and tight he feels around him. He’d gladly let this moment stretch forever.

 

Then Jensen starts moving and there’s no more space for thoughts: all Jared can do is feel, kissing and caressing every inch of skin he can reach. It’s too much, too good and Jared can feel himself slipping closer and closer to the edge. It won’t be long now.

Pulling his lover in for another kiss, he wraps a hand around his cock and stroking roughly. Jensen rides him harder, a soft whimper the only warning before he comes and drags Jared over the edge with him. It’s like falling from a great height and never stopping, like standing in a fire and not being burned – it’s everything and much more.

 

Jensen is still the first thing he sees when opens his eyes again.

“How do you feel?”

 

Jensen rises his eyebrows. “Do you have to ask?”

 

“I’m serious. You’re not hurt, are you?”

 

“I’m fine. Better than fine.” He answers a little breathlessly as he moves off his lap. He moves as if to get off the bed, but Jared stops him.

 

“Where are you going?” Jensen doesn’t answer, darting a nervous glance toward the door. “No.”

 

“No?” The eyebrows go up again.

 

“Stay here,” Jared says. “I want to sleep next to you.”

 

Jensen hesitates. “It’s too hot. There will be winter for that.”

 

“I don’t think I can wait that long.” He reaches out his hand toward him. “Please.”

Jensen takes it.

 

Then, there’s only the moonlight peeking in through the window.

 

 


End file.
